


Barnstorming

by Telesilla



Series: Barnstorming [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Baseball, M/M, Sharing a Bed, alternate universe - 1890s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barnstorming out on the prairies is hard, but it has its advantages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barnstorming

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially a one off that turned into something very different; there's a lot later that contradicts this story. At some point it will be edited to fit in, but for now it stands as a jumping off point.

"Let me guess," Buster says as Tim eases down into the tub. "Someone called you a…I dunno. What word do they use in places like this?"

They’re out on the fucking prairies; the slang is different than it is in New York.

"Places like this?" Tim asks. "Listen to you, Peach, talking like you’re some city boy."

"I am these days," Buster says.

"Mary," Tim says. "That’s the word. Not hard to figure out what they meant."

"How many of them?" Buster gets the arnica out of his suitcase and sets it on the table.

"Only a couple. Everyone else just wanted to watch."

"Shoulda waited for me before you went down for a drink." Buster scowls, wishing he’d waited to have a bath. Not only did Tim get in a fight, but if he’d waited, Tim could have had the first crack at the bath and the water would have been warm.

Tim gives him a look. “That would have made all the difference in the world,” he says. “Me getting insulted and then having you step in and save me.”

"I know," Buster says. He perches on the edge of the tub and looks Tim over, wincing when he sees the bruise already forming on Tim’s ribs. "How bad is it?"

"I can still pitch tomorrow."

Of course Tim can pitch, in spite of being the tiny little thing that he is. He’s no Radbourn, but he can give you nine good innings every two or three days.

"Fuck pitching. I’m asking you how bad is it."

"Hurts some. Not cracked or anything." He looks up at Buster. "Now let me take my goddamn bath."

Later, when they’re settled into bed together, Tim chuckles.

"What?"

"Everyone thinks you room with me because you’re the manager and you want more room in the bed."

"What makes you think that’s not the reason? Bad enough I gotta room with the Bum during the real season." Buster shudders. "Did you know he can crack his _toes_? Try sleeping with someone cracking their fucking toes in your ear all night long.”

"And here I thought you liked my tongue in your mouth and my cock up your ass."

Buster’s breath catches in his chest. “That,” he says and then has to clear his throat. “That too.”

"Then get over here, Mary."

Barnstorming out on the prairies is hard, Buster thinks later, after Tim’s asleep. It’s harder when it’s your first year managing and your team’s made up of country boys, Cubans too dark to play on real teams and one college-educated pitcher who likes to make trouble just because he can. It’s hard because each game is about hometown pride and maybe they come to see him and Timmy and Pablo, but they really want their nine to win against the guys they read about in the newspapers and Spaulding’s Guide. It’s hard because they ride trains even worse than the ones they take to Saint Louis and most rooming houses they stay in don’t have running water and all the fields in these two horse towns are crappy.

But it’s Tim in his bed at every night and a baseball game every day and it’ll do.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> In the early days of baseball, guys who roomed together usually slept in the same bed and sometimes they’d sleep head to foot. Also in places where hot water had to be carried to the room, people shared baths. Also, I know Pablo's not really Cuban but a lot of dark skinned players, both Latino and Black, called themselves Cubans since people thought of Cubans as white. Go figure.


End file.
